


In Nomine Patris, In Manibus Deorum

by Aequoria



Series: Zines and Events [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fatherhood, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Zine: Cosmogony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoria/pseuds/Aequoria
Summary: After the death of Queen Aulea, Regis must deal with his grief, his crown, and the responsibility of being a single parent to his young son.
Relationships: Aulea Lucis Caelum/Regis Lucis Caelum (minor), Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Series: Zines and Events [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618480
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	In Nomine Patris, In Manibus Deorum

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the incredibly beautiful Cosmogony Zine, in the era known as The Story of the Father. It was such a privilege to write for this zine alongside the unbelievably talented contributors!

_In the name of the father, in the hands of the gods._

In the Crown City of Insomnia, before the Chosen King was born, there was another king— equally noble, equally just. His name was Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, although to the King of Light, he was known simply as Father.

On the day of his coronation, Regis made a promise to all people under his care: that he would spend his life protecting them from the attacks of the enemy Empire. He would grant all Lucian citizens an equal chance at living their lives with dignity and without fear, through his skill with magic and his connection to the Crystal. His promise to extend the great Wall which protected the Crown City made him beloved among the people, and they believed him, for he was young and strong unlike his father before him.

He broke his promise first with Galahd.

Then, he broke his promise with Lestallum.

The day the Wall retreated back above the city of Insomnia, thousands cursed the name of Regis Lucis Caelum.

It was no wonder, for the promised protection of the king was clearly meant only for those fortunate— or wealthy— enough to live in the Crown City. While many people flocked to Insomnia to build life anew as refugees, many too thought to stay in their own homes and defend their way of life. To the intricacies of politics and the powers of the royal family, most grew apathetic, and in others, a deep bitterness took root.

Regis felt the distrust of his people keenly in his heart. He knew he had betrayed them; his heart bled for his people, but he stood by his decisions, for he had no choice. War was upon them, and sacrifices needed to be made.

But the final test— the final sacrifice— was something that Regis could not have foreseen.

* * *

**AB INITIO:**

* * *

“Come and meet our son,” Queen Aulea said from her hospital bed.

Though Regis had rushed to the hospital as soon as he’d heard the news, the child had already been born by the time he arrived. Aulea held the babe in her arms, and Regis approached cautiously, reverently.

“He’s beautiful,” Regis whispered, for it was true.

The little prince in a little blue blanket lay sleeping in his mother’s arms. The tuft of hair on his head was black as night, and his skin pale and delicate like starlight. A single tiny hand poked out of the blankets; Regis reached out, stroking the soft skin with a finger, and the little baby instinctively closed his hand around it.

The king and queen looked upon their newborn son with love and pride, and named him for the hope that he brought them and their people— _Noctis Lucis Caelum_ , their light in the night sky.

* * *

Aulea died when Noctis was only a few months old.

Black banners rose up everywhere in Insomnia. People flocked to the streets and public squares, holding candles and wearing dark veils. Television screens set up to show the funeral procession dominated the city, looming giant on the sides of skyscrapers.

Regis had been king for long enough that he’d forgotten what it was like to be within such a crowd. Even standing above his wife’s coffin, he was aware of millions of eyes upon him.

Did they even know what they had lost? The kindness of her eyes, the sweetness of her laughter? How many of them truly felt Aulea’s death, and how many were here to be part of a historic event?

Regis could barely even glance at Noctis’ face. Aulea’s blue eyes stared back at him every time Regis looked at his son— at _their_ son. He lay in his father’s arms, swathed in a black blanket, not understanding that his whole world would be changed. Regis wondered if he was old enough to love his mother, and if such a small child could even grieve.

Above the city, the Wall glimmered. The Ring rested heavy on his finger, heavier even than the babe in his arms.

A Lucis Caelum’s death was not their own, for their souls belonged to their Crystal and their Ring. Like all young men, Regis could not fathom that eternal sleep, but now his mortality faced him, stark and merciless.

“Never look back,” he murmured to Noctis, in the words his father had taught him. The words he would one day teach his own son.

Death, inevitable, lay before him in her coffin, while life lay sleeping in his arms. Both he loved with all his heart; and it was his love for them that now caused him to falter.

“I can’t, Clarus,” he whispered, the weight of his oldest friend’s gaze heavy on his shoulders. “I cannot do this.”

Without another word, he placed the child into the arms of his Shield, and turned away.

* * *

Noctis grew up with all of the luxuries a little prince could afford, and they were many. He had an abundance of soft toys, the most fashionable clothes, and the latest games. He was attended by highly-recommended nannies, and various specialists in child development monitored his progress.

Regis knew of everything that went on in his son’s life, although he rarely saw the boy himself. Just as he stood apart from his suffering people, safe in his fortified city, far easier it was to keep his distance from his beloved son.

“How is Noctis?” he asked Cor Leonis one evening, after a day of meetings with the Council.

The Immortal, who by then had been the king’s trusted friend for years, simply turned away. “You should look in on him yourself,” he said.

“Cor—”

“ _Regis_ ,” Cor said. “You’ve run away from enough. Don’t run away from _him_.”

“ _Marshal Leonis._ You forget your place.”

At this, Cor turned back. He placed his fist over his heart and bowed to his king, silent.

* * *

**IN MEDIAS RES:**

* * *

Was ever a king so loathed by his people?

 _Heartless_ , they called him. A cold traitor beyond Insomnia, and within the city, simply a living machine to power their great Wall.

Regis did not care. He did not think of the vast expanse of the lands beyond. He did not dwell on the memories of motor oil and dust, of brotherhood and the brief escape from the crushing destiny of all kings.

If that was what was asked of him, then heartless he would be.

* * *

“Let’s share a drink, my friend,” Clarus said, clasping Regis’ forearm in a firm grip. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done so.”

Old friends were the King and Shield, closer than brothers. Regis allowed Clarus to lead him to a comfortable room, with two chairs by a roaring fire. It seemed Clarus already had the room prepared, so Regis sat while his friend poured out their drinks.

“When Noctis was born, you spent every waking moment with him. You even brought him to a Council meeting, in a sling against your chest.”

Despite himself, Regis smiled at the memory.

“So tell me.” Clarus leaned forward in his seat, and gazed at him steadily. “Why are you avoiding him?”

Regis sighed. “I didn’t come here to discuss this with you.”

“Answer the question, Regis.”

At first, Regis resisted. But only a Shield could look upon a king and his weaknesses— not judging, but supporting, with that quiet, loyal strength.

“He’s going to grow up and watch me die. I doubt I will ever see my grandchildren. Already I can feel my bones aching, though I should still be in my prime.” Regis flexed his hand, and stared at the veins under thinning skin. “Can you imagine the pain it will cause him, watching me fade like I watched Aulea? Knowing we cannot even be together after death, because of this… this _curse_ on my bloodline. Until the prophesied Chosen King is born, whoever that may be.”

“So you trade a moment of mourning for a lifetime without love.”

Regis glared at his oldest friend. “Don’t you dare tell me I do not love my son.”

“I know you do. Everyone knows you do, except little Noctis himself. Do you know, he called me Dad once? And when I explained that you are his father, he asked me why you don’t kiss him goodnight like they do on television.”

It was as though Clarus had physically struck Regis with his words. Just as in battle, his attacks were harsh and unrelenting.

“My Gladio is six years old. He’s so bright, he’s just learned to ride his tricycle, and he makes up wild tales to tell at the dinner table. He wants to be a writer and make people happy with his stories.

“Every time I look at him, I can only think of how he was born to die for your son.”

Regis could not speak.

“I chose to bring him into this world because I wanted to build a family with the woman I love, and because it is my duty. I didn’t think it would be so hard. Just because I’ve accepted my own duty, doesn’t mean I’ve accepted my son’s. But I _must_.”

“Clarus…”

Regis reached out, and a weathered hand closed over his Shield’s. “I am bound by Crystal magic, and the will of the gods,” he said. “You are bound only by blood and an old promise. Say the word, and I would release you and your descendants from your duty. You would be free.”

“Do not insult me,” Clarus responded. “For you, I would give my life willingly.”

“And little Gladio? Does _he_ will it?”

To that, Clarus made no answer. For a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fireplace and the clink of melting ice in their glasses.

“He will learn,” the Shield said slowly, “just as I did, to accept his responsibility, perhaps even take pride in it. But gods, Regis, he needs someone he’d be _proud_ to die for. Raise your son to be a good king— a good _man_ , and then I would not grieve so terribly for my own child.”

* * *

The tomb of King Mors was built outside the walls of the capital, in keeping with the tradition of his ancestors. Regis had little cause to visit the place, but on occasion, he would come with an entourage for the event to be circulated among the eager public.

That day, he had only his loyal Shield to accompany him. The wind blew strong across the Leiden plains, and he blinked away the gathering dust in his eyes.

However Lucian media portrayed him, Regis remembered his father to be a quiet man, strong in his principles. He’d fought fiercely for whatever he believed to be the greater good, heedless of the Council and of public opinion alike.

If Mors had loved anything in his lifetime, it was the ancient tradition of the Kings. Always, he had told Regis of the great responsibility they bore, and the noble destiny that they would fulfill after death. Their souls were not their own; they had a greater sacrifice awaiting them, for the sake of their Star.

 _Too great_ , Regis had always thought. _Too much._

“I understand now, Father,” he spoke, into the dust and wind and empty, scorching plains. Mors would not hear him there; his soul and the souls of all their ancestors before him were a heavy weight on Regis’ finger.

“I will die, then my son will die, and in the end, the Chosen King will come and release us from our curse.” Regis raised his hand to his mouth. The cold of the Ring burned against his lips. “I cannot run from this.”

He closed his eyes. A memory of his father came to mind, immovable and fearless. For him, for the kingdom, Regis would be fearless too.

For Noctis.

“Push forward. Never look back.”

He turned to Clarus then, and together they departed, towards their city domed with light.

* * *

Noctis was already sleeping when Regis entered his room. He did not dare turn on the light for fear of waking the child, though the nanny had told him Noctis was a deep sleeper.

He stood by his son’s bedside and counted each quiet, precious breath. A hand lay exposed, uncovered by warm blankets; on a whim, Regis reached for it.

On instinct, Noctis’ hand closed around his fingers.

“I’m sorry, Noctis. I’ll do better this time,” Regis said softly. “I promise.”

He brushed his other hand across soft hair. The Ring glimmered in the dim moonlight, and the king bent to kiss his son’s forehead.

“Goodnight, my little prince.”

* * *

**AD FINEM:**

* * *

Years later, Regis walked into the room where they housed the Crystal. His steps were still sure, still light and steady; the echo in the hallway did not yet have the characteristic _clack, clack_ of a cane that would mark his approach only a few years later.

He would come to the Crystal Room very rarely, only when called. The Astrals held both his life and death in their hands, as they’d held the life and death of his family; he refused to give them any more than necessary to keep their favour.

“Bahamut,” he greeted, with just the barest amount of reverence.

The Draconian did not manifest himself in his true form, for only the Chosen King could behold him in full glory. Instead, he spoke through the Crystal itself, and his unearthly voice echoed in Regis’ very bones.

When Bahamut finished speaking, a cry of anguish rose from the king, such that had never been heard since the creation of the Accursed.

For hours, the king begged; he let go of his mortal pride, and bargained with the Draconian to spare them from the destiny that had been foretold.

But the Draconian was justice, not mercy, and would not be moved.

When the king’s tears ran dry, in defeat, he turned to the Crystal. He sighed as though the very breath was being stolen from his lungs.

“Had I any choice, I would not give my son for all the lives in this world,” he said. “Know this, Bahamut— I keep your commands, not out of love, but out of duty. When the line of Lucis ends, so too will your followers, and all humanity will know you as wretched among the Astrals.”

From the Crystal, only silence.

* * *

In the Crown City of Insomnia, a king held his sleeping son against his chest. With one hand, he supported the little prince, and gave him a place to rest in safety and trust.

With the other, he grasped the sword that would someday pierce the heart of his child.

Noctis slept, and Regis wept, and as the sun rose high above the city, he pressed his lips against soft black hair and whispered to him— not as a king to his heir, but as a father to his child.

_I will be with you always._

_Forgive me, my son._

* * *

**THE BEGINNING.**

* * *


End file.
